Three Little Words
by fangirlu
Summary: Five times John tells Joss that he loves her without saying the words and the one time that he does.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I stopped watching the show after "The Crossing", so this tale is firmly and unashamedly AU. I never thought I'd ever write one of these types of stories, but when the idea struck me out of nowhere I had to put figurative pen to paper.

I want to give a big hello to the ladies in chat (you know who you are). *hugs* I miss you guys! I also want to give a great big thanks to my beta PiscesChikk. Your awesomeness knows no bounds. :)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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**Seeing Stars**

"What are we doing up here, John?" Shoving her gloved hands as deeply into her coat pockets as they would go, Joss hunched her shoulders against the frosty January chill that clung stubbornly to the late-evening air. The soft wool-blend of the black fabric brushed against her bare earlobes, briefly warming them as she followed his tall, loping frame across the expanse of the large, flat rooftop.

"You'll see," he tossed over his shoulder, his stride long and fluid as he began to make his way to the far side of the building. The bottom of his coat flapped against his thighs in dark protest as a stiff, icy wind rudely announced that winter was far from over.

"You're the one that asked me to meet you here, you know."

"I remember."

Frustrated by his blatant evasions, she frowned unhappily, but didn't say anything more. She hadn't really been expecting him to offer up an explanation anyway.

It was typical John Reese, but that didn't mean it didn't exasperate the hell out of her.

As she trudged along behind him, her eyes made a quick circuit around the roof, taking in everything almost at once. It was clean and well-kept, but given the building's chic downtown address she was hardly surprised. The only thing marring the huge space were the ragged piles of snow huddling sadly against the waist-high brick walls running along the perimeter. The once-pristine white was now dirty and dull, and she idly wondered if it would have a chance to melt before the next snowstorm rolled into town.

As their tiny caravan of two began to veer off to the left, her gaze landed on a small rooftop garden located to the right. Although winter had robbed it of its greenery, there was no doubt it would be a thing of beauty once springtime rolled around. She could already imagine the huge, reddish-orange terra-cotta planters overflowing with tall willowy fountain grass and bunches of African daisies; the smaller flowerpots would stand guard beside them, a riot of dueling fragrances and bright colors.

It didn't take much coaxing for her brain to conjure up an image of herself lounging up here, a book in one hand and an iced coffee in the other as she lazed the day away under the warm afternoon sun. Heaving a wistful sigh that had as much to do with the fantasy of lazy days spent doing nothing as much as her desire to see an end to the cold weather, Joss snapped out of her reverie just as a field of motionless black wool filled her view.

She managed to send the message to her feet to stop walking a second before she would've collided with John's broad back.

Stepping from behind him, her eyes swiftly scanned the compact, black telescope he was flanking before her attention was snagged by the beauty spread before her. From their position at the far end of the building, five stories above the busy city streets below, the low hum of the passing traffic sounded distant, far off.

The sky above them, as black as velvet and as vast and dark as a stormy ocean, was blessing the city with one of its infrequent wintry, nighttime shows. The moon was a perfect sliver of white, the stars bright and glittering; although she knew better she swore that if she really, really tried, she'd be able to reach up and touch them.

She was struck by how isolated it felt up here on this quiet roof, how secluded their little slice of the world seemed. She watched him as he watched her and was pretty sure that she felt the hard concrete shift beneath the soles of her low-heeled boots as his eyes bore into hers.

It wasn't the first time they'd been alone on a rooftop together, but tonight it felt different somehow. There was no number to be worked, no case to be investigated, no admonitions or warnings that she had to deliver in defiance of his law-breaking ways. Tonight, right now, it was just the two of them against the world. And it felt…good.

It felt normal.

It felt _right._

The tips of his ears were starting to turn a deep crimson, and although he wasn't outwardly showing it, she knew he had to be as chilled as she was. The polar vortex was doing a number on the East Coast, making the simple task of walking from the car to the building feel like a hike across the Arctic tundra.

Balling her hands into fists, she fought the urge to reach out and brush her fingertips against the shell of his ear in a vain attempt to lend him some of her warmth. Instead, she put up her natural defenses, cocking a brow at him and injecting a little sauce into her voice as she said, "So what'd you want to show me?" She nodded her head toward the lone telescope. "A random telescope on a roof?"

The corners of his mouth lifted in an infinitesimal smile. "Nope."

"You invited me here to star gaze then?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" she repeated incredulously, her earlier frown returning for an encore. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What exactly does that mean, John?"

With another small smile, John stepped in front of the telescope, leaned down, and looked through the jutting eyepiece. He tapped his hidden earpiece and said in a low voice, "Finch? Give me the coordinates."

Joss' curiosity rocketed even higher as she watched him carefully adjust the high-tech instrument. She couldn't even begin to guess what was going on here, but that was probably just the way he wanted it.

After what felt like eons, but was probably only less than five minutes, John stood. "Thanks, Finch," he said, tapping the earpiece again as he signed off.

As he pulled the small, flesh-colored communication device out of his ear and slipped it into his coat pocket, Joss' eyebrows climbed her forehead in surprise. There were very few occasions where she'd ever seen John separate himself from his access to the team.

"What if Finch needs you?" she asked cautiously. "The Machine is constantly spitting out numbers, right?"

She was still getting used to the idea of Harold's all-seeing, all-knowing invention; but whatever she felt about the Machine's constant invasions of privacy, she knew that the information it provided was vital. The last thing she wanted was for someone to get hurt because he was up here with her instead of down on the streets taking care of business.

"If anything comes up he can contact Shaw." John's blue eyes were steady and serious as he stared at her, as if he was silently daring her to put up a fight. "Okay?"

Part of her wanted to push back against what those words implied. The work he did with the numbers was important, a matter of life and death, and for him to willingly pass off that responsibility to someone else just to be here with her was a little overwhelming. She tamped down her natural instinct to resist, knowing that whatever was going on here must be extremely important to him.

She nodded and said softly, "Okay."

Only then did he step back and motion toward the telescope with a sweep of his arm. Bewildered, she took his place, rising up on her toes so she could look through the eyepiece.

Choosing that exact moment to remind them of its presence, a blast of frigid air bullied past them, blowing a thick curtain of dark hair across her eyes. Reaching up to impatiently push it aside, she froze when she felt John's leather-clad fingers gently tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Thanks." Mentally cursing the shyness that had crept into her voice, Joss peeked at him from the corner of her eyes.

His gaze was slowly tracing her profile, his hand lingering in the strands of her hair far longer than was necessary before his arm dropped back to his side.

"You're welcome."

His voice was as soft and light as his touch had been, and she was suddenly glad that he was wearing gloves. She wasn't sure she would have been able to take the feel of his bare skin against hers. Not after their time in the morgue and his admission that she'd made him a better man. Not after that kiss and the strong connection they'd forged that night that made everything that came before it look tame in comparison.

Sometimes when she least expected it, she could still feel the heat of his hand where it had caressed her cheek. She could still feel his warm breath ghost across her face and the thrill of pleasant surprise when he'd pressed his lips against hers for the first and only time.

They'd never talked about that kiss or the intimate, heartfelt things they'd said to each other the night they'd both come so close to dying. Chalking everything that had happened that night to adrenaline and the very real fear of imminent death, she'd decided not to embarrass either of them by dredging up what had passed between them.

But despite what she knew was the right thing, the _smart_ thing, she still carried it with her, a beautiful memory that she would cherish until the day she left this earth.

Pulling in a lungful of air, she was grateful for the sharp sting of cold that shocked her system. She desperately needed the distraction; being up here with him like this was doing things to her head and her heart that she had no desire to wrestle with at the moment.

Glad for the respite, she ducked her head to look into the eyepiece again. The night sky came into sharp relief, dots of white light glittering brightly against a stark black backdrop.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered, awe-struck.

"Yes, it is."

Joss kept her eyes trained straight ahead, fairly certain that he hadn't been talking about the stars. His voice had ticked just a bit lower, taking on a slightly raspy quality that reminded her of their time in the morgue. She could practically _feel_ his eyes on her and was grateful that in the semi-darkness he likely couldn't see the blush that was slowly crawling across her face.

"What am I looking at here, John?" she asked flippantly, self-aware enough to recognize it as the defense mechanism that it was.

"Technically? The sky."

"Smart ass." She rolled her eyes in exasperation, but couldn't help smiling at the teasing lilt in his voice. "Seriously, John. Am I supposed to be looking at something specific?"

"You are." He moved closer to her and she barely managed to keep herself from jumping when his next words sounded right next to her ear. "See that little star?"

Forcing herself to concentrate, her eyes zeroed in on one of the more brightly sparkling stars in the sky. "You mean the one that's twinkling like it's demanding to be seen?"

He huffed out a small chuckle, his breath trickling over her ear. "That's the one."

Doing her best to suppress a shiver, she laughed with delight. "It's a feisty little thing, isn't it?"

"Feisty…tiny…vibrant...beautiful." John paused and then continued softly, "It reminds me of you."

"What?" Sucking in a surprised breath, Joss' head whipped in his direction, her eyes wide and searching.

"I'd planned to do this for Christmas, but after everything that happened I didn't get the chance."

"Do…what?"

"I had a star named after you, Joss."

"You what?"

Joss blinked slowly as she tried to process the information. She knew she was starting to sound like a babbling idiot, but she couldn't help it. His pronouncement had set her back on her heels, and she wasn't sure how to react to it.

John pulled his eyes away from hers and looked up at the dark sky. "I wasn't sure what to name it at first. I was just going to go with 'Joss', but that didn't seem adequate enough."

Unbidden, she took a step closer to him. "It didn't?"

Still not looking at her, John shook his head. "It had to be something fitting. Something that would accurately capture who you are." Finally, he turned his gaze back to her again, the warmth and affection she saw there unmistakable. "It took me a long time to come up with something appropriate."

"What did you name it?" She held her breath, waiting.

"Jocelyn's Heart. A name that's simple, elegant and beautiful. Like you," he said, the reverence evident in his voice. "And from now on, no matter what happens, you'll always be with me."

"John…" Joss said then stopped, completely at a loss for words. Heart swelling with emotion, her eyes filled with tears and she looked away quickly. "Thank you," she said when she was sure she could speak without her voice cracking.

"I hope it's okay."

The tone of his voice was uncharacteristically hesitant, almost unsure. Wanting to assure him that what he'd done was more than okay, she reached out and slid her hand into his, giving him a comforting squeeze. Wordlessly, he threaded his fingers through hers and held on tightly.

"It's perfect," she said, shifting her gaze to the place in the sky where she knew her namesake would always be there, watching over them. "Absolutely perfect."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows!

The title of this chapter is the title of a wonderful song by Landon Pigg. I first heard it because someone had used it for a Careese video, and it was so perfect for them and so beautiful in general that I had to find the song for myself. You all should check it out. It's really good stuff.

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**Falling In Love In A Coffee Shop**

John was nervous.

The kaleidoscope of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach since he'd issued the invitation for Joss to meet him for coffee this morning had grown exponentially overnight. It was a state that rarely plagued him, but he found that the longer he sat here, watching the city begin a brand new day through the diner's huge windows, the more anxious he became.

Although the feeling was strange to him, he supposed he really shouldn't be all that surprised. Not when Joss Carter was involved. Because whenever she entered into the equation, things had a tendency to change. The way he thought. The way he felt. The little things that made life worth living that he normally wouldn't even have paid attention to.

When it came to her and her venerable place in his life, everything he thought he knew about himself and what he wanted and expected was suddenly not so simple anymore.

She made him feel things he had no business feeling and yearn for things he didn't deserve to have. She made him want impossibilities like legacies and longevity and happily ever after. Pipe dreams that had no place in his world.

He'd tried his best to fight against it, even going so far as to cut ties with her after that whole Riker's disaster. But the longer he'd tried to stay away from her, the more he'd found it untenable. Like the Earth's natural inclination to follow a pre-determined, unwavering path around the Sun, he'd found that _his_ natural inclination was to gravitate toward his detective. He needed to be in her orbit, and it couldn't be from afar.

He needed to see her, talk to her, touch her.

He needed to know how her day went and how Taylor was faring as he grew from a boy into a man. He needed to hear the exasperation in her voice when he did something that annoyed her or see the delighted twinkle in her eyes when he said something that amused her.

He simply needed _her_.

It wasn't much more complicated than that. And no matter how inconvenient the truth was or how terrifying it might be, the moment he'd confessed some of what he felt for her in that morgue all those weeks ago, the more comfortable he felt embracing it. It was a fear he didn't think he wanted to run from anymore. Not after he'd almost been forced to live in a world without her in it.

The finite nature of life demanded it, and it was time he started listening.

After he'd taken his head out of his ass, things had fallen neatly into place. With Finch's help, decisions he'd been putting off for reasons that now seemed silly had been cemented.

The first has been the star and the second…

Automatically, his hand drifted to the portfolio that rested on the worn, red vinyl beside the dark fabric of his thigh. For what felt like the hundredth time during the fifteen short minutes he'd been waiting, he let his fingertips graze the surface. The black leather was smooth and cool to the touch, a tangible reminder that he was really going to do this. He was really going to share something with Joss that he'd had no intention of her finding out until it was absolutely unavoidable.

Sighing quietly, still edgy as hell but determined to see this through, John downed the last of his coffee, grimacing with distaste as the bitter, lukewarm liquid hit his tongue. He was contemplating whether to order a fresh cup from the tired-looking waitress wiping down the long counter or wait for Joss to arrive, when he felt it: a tingle of awareness, sharp and insistent, snaking up his spine.

His eyes shot to the door at the far end of the room and just as he suspected, Joss had appeared. He smiled. As always, his body knew she was near before his eyes could even provide him with visual confirmation. The feeling used to unsettle him, but he'd long since learned to treasure it.

Smile settling into a welcoming smirk as their gazes collided, he let his eyes meander over her as she made her way over to him. The smell of brewing coffee and frying bacon; the low babble of hungry patrons; the metallic clink of utensils scraping against ceramic all faded away into a silent void as his universe narrowed to a place where only she existed.

He didn't hear anything but the click of her boots on the scuffed white linoleum or see anything other than her wide, beautiful smile as she drew nearer.

As small as she was, she appeared even smaller bundled up tightly against the frosty winter morning. Her black wool coat was tucked firmly around her slim form, and a burnt-orange scarf, its long tasseled ends hanging all the way to her thighs, was wrapped protectively around the lower part of her face.

The wind had been playing freely in the glossy strands of her ebony hair, giving her a sexy, tousled look that conjured up thoughts of her waking up in his bed on a lazy Sunday morning.

For her part—and to her credit—Joss gave as good as she got, openly watching him watch her as she slid into the booth across from him.

"Good morning, Detective."

"Morning. Did I keep you waiting long?"

He watched as she uncoiled the knit scarf from around her neck, revealing her smooth brown skin in full. She was glowing, and it didn't escape his notice that she was turning more than a few heads even at seven o' clock in the morning. That didn't surprise him. She was absolutely gorgeous, the early hour only seeming to enhance the beauty she'd been naturally blessed with.

"Nope—you're right on time." As he waited for her to get settled, John signaled the waitress to bring them two fresh cups of coffee.

"How do you know I want coffee?" She pulled off her matching gloves then slid her coat down her arms, a coy smile turning up the corners of her full lips.

As she blew into her hands to warm them, his gaze strayed to her mouth. Memories of their one and only kiss flooded his brain. He could remember with perfect clarity how soft her lips were; how kissing her had felt like finally coming home.

With Herculean effort, he forced himself to focus on her eyes instead. "Because you always want coffee."

Joss flashed him a dimpled smile, wordlessly acknowledging his bull's-eye. They fell silent as the gray-haired waitress materialized beside the table and set two cups of steaming black coffee on the scratched Formica in front of them.

"And do you know how I take it?" she asked as soon as the older woman had turned on her sensible, rubber-soled shoes and hurried away. It was clear she was teasing him.

He decided to repay the favor.

"Joss, I wouldn't be very good at what I do if I didn't know how you take your coffee by now." He caught her gaze and held it. "And we both know I'm very good at what I do."

Her husky laugh touched him in places that shouldn't be touched in public, but it also spurred him on. Before he'd even realized his intentions, he was leaning forward to take up the unspoken challenge. Reaching across the table, he snagged the rounded handle of her cup and carefully pulled it toward him. The dark liquid sloshed gently against the sides then settled almost immediately as he carefully pushed his own cup off to one side.

He could feel her eyes watching him as he went to work. Choosing to let his actions speak for him, he quickly dressed her coffee with three packets of sugar, two tiny containers of plain half and half and one container of French vanilla-flavored creamer before sliding it back in front of her.

Looking duly impressed, Joss raised an arched brow and took a small, cautious sip. "Not bad."

"See?" he said in a low voice. "I know just how you like it."

John didn't bother to hide his pleased smirk as his comment had the intended effect. Another laugh bubbled out of her, a combination of surprise and delight mirrored in the slight widening of her eyes and the glimmer of amusement making them sparkle like chocolate diamonds.

Lifting his cup to his mouth, he hid a relieved smile behind the white ceramic as she continued to chuckle quietly. The second the double-entendre had left his mouth, he was afraid his teasing may have gone a step too far.

He was glad it hadn't.

John knew he was playing a dangerous game, perhaps even a foolish one, but at this point he didn't care. He was tired of denying himself what he wanted, and damn it all, he wanted _her_.

He just wasn't sure what he was going to do about it.

Joss relaxed back against the padded bench seat and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. The silver hoop hanging from her earlobe flashed under the bright ceiling lights, almost rivaling the brilliance of her smile, but not by much.

"So what'd you want to see me about? Got a new number?"

"Not yet."

Her eyebrows jumped upwards and then immediately lowered again as the beginnings of a perplexed frown caused that familiar furrow to appear right above the bridge of her nose. She tilted her head, and he watched entranced as the curled ends of her long hair tumbled around her shoulders.

"Then what's going on?"

Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he silently placed the portfolio in the center of the table between them.

"Open it," he encouraged when she simply stared at it. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as her sharp detective's brain tried to guess what was inside. "Unless you've developed X-ray vision since the last time I saw you, you're going to have to open it, Joss."

"What is it?" she asked cautiously, the elegant fingers wrapped around her cup tightening imperceptibly. It was almost as if she knew that the contents hidden beneath the rich leather cover had the potential to change their relationship forever.

"The only way to know is to open it."

"I'll know if you tell me," she shot back.

Amused, he shook his head, a small smile curling up one corner of his mouth. That was his Joss. Stubborn to the last.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're exceedingly obstinate?"

"There's a certain someone who loves to remind me of that every chance he gets." She picked up her coffee cup and took a small sip, nodding her head toward the object in question. "So what's in it? Is it something I shouldn't be seeing?"

"It's nothing illegal if that's what you're asking."

Seemingly resigned to the fact that he could be as stubborn as she was, she sighed. "Okay, John, I'll bite."

His stomach knotted anxiously as she slid her coffee out of the way and pulled the portfolio directly in front of her. As she flipped it open and stared down at the top page, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, employing every tactic he knew to quell the nervous anticipation that had come roaring back with a vengeance.

"This is your Will," Joss said as she looked up at him, obviously confused.

"It is," he confirmed.

"I didn't know you had a Will."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Detective."

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Despite the teasing note that she'd injected into her voice, he could tell that this sudden shift in their conversation had taken her aback.

"Actually, I am. Keep reading."

She bowed her dark head again and began to read, taking in what were to be the last set of instructions he'd ever give. With her attention diverted for the moment, he let himself greedily drink his fill. He let his eyes trace down the gentle slope of her nose and over the plush curve of her pursed lips before moving lower to follow the taut fabric of her navy button-down where it cradled the swell of her full breasts.

"You made Fusco your Executor if anything happens to Finch?" She looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

"Well, it damn sure isn't going to be Shaw." He gave her a reassuring nod when she only continued to stare at him doubtfully. "Trust me—there's a method to my madness."

"Uh-huh." She returned her attention to the papers in front of her, and he waited for it.

Suddenly, her head snapped up again, and he knew she'd reached the first of two huge pronouncements.

Floored, Joss' brown eyes were wide as she stared across the bisque-colored tabletop at him. "You're giving Finch and I the power to decide…" she trailed off as if she didn't even want to finish the sentence.

"The legal power to remove me from life support if I'm ever incapacitated to that degree, yes," he finished for her. "I've also expressed the wish that you both become my Guardians if that ever becomes necessary."

With a vehemence that surprised him, Joss shook her head and pushed the portfolio away from her. "I can't do this."

Noticing that her hands were trembling slightly, he reached across the table and gave them a soft squeeze. "It's okay. I promise." He pulled his hand away and gently pushed the portfolio back to her. "Go on…keep going."

She looked at him for a long moment, the desire to argue with him evident in her eyes, but he could also see her innate curiosity getting the better of her. Finally, reluctantly, she lowered her head and resumed reading.

It didn't take long.

John knew the exact moment that she'd reached the biggest item in the document because she froze, her chest literally stilling as she sucked in a surprised breath and held it. Slowly, she closed the portfolio, the soft _thwap_ that it made sounding impossibly loud amongst the ambient noise surrounding them.

Joss stared down at the onyx cover, not saying a word as time seemed to slow to a crawl. For once, he wasn't sure what she was thinking and was almost afraid to ask.

"Joss?" he said warily after a she'd been silent for almost a full minute. "Are you okay?"

She finally looked up at him, the telltale wetness in her eyes setting him back on his heels. "What do you think, John?"

"Given that you're going to become a very rich woman one day, I'd like to think you're happy."

Blinking back her tears, she shook her head incredulously, as if he'd just said something extraordinarily stupid. "You are so clueless sometimes, you know that?"

Mystified, John frowned at the irritation in her voice. He hadn't known what to expect when she found out that he was leaving her with an inheritance large enough to guarantee that she'd never have to work again, but it hadn't been…_this_. She almost seemed angry at him.

"I don't understand why you're so upset."

"Of course, you don't," she retorted, her voice low, but no less intense. "You don't understand why I'm upset because you don't expect anyone to give a damn." She slapped her hand down on top of the portfolio as if it had personally wronged her. "This isn't even you. You're _not_ John Rooney. You're not even John Reese. You're John Lew—" Realizing what she was about to say, she cut herself off in mid-sentence, furtively glancing around the now crowded diner as if she expected to catch someone eavesdropping.

No one was paying them any undue attention of course, but at the moment, that was the farthest thing from his mind. He'd frozen in shock as the realization that she knew exactly who he was—who he _really_ was—slammed into him. He was hit even harder by the knowledge that he didn't care. He liked the idea that she knew who he was before he'd turned into the killing machine that she'd come to know so well.

"So you know." It wasn't a question.

Joss nodded. "I've known since New Rochelle."

"You never told me."

"Would it have made any difference in our…" She paused, seeming to carefully weigh her words. "Would it have made a difference?"

"No," John answered without even having to think about it. And it was true. It wouldn't have.

Although he was curious to know just how she'd managed to dig up information the Agency had worked so hard to suppress, he held his tongue. Now wasn't the time. One day he'd ask and one day she'd tell him, but today wasn't that day.

Today, they had more vital things to talk about.

"Are you going to tell my why you're so upset that I'm leaving you all my money?" Placing his forearms on the table, he leaned forward, drawn to her despite himself. "You seem more upset about that than you do about being named my Guardian."

"I thought Finch was the rich one," she said in lieu of answering his question.

John sighed with exasperation, but decided to play along. For now.

"Finch is an incredibly generous employer and a magician at investing," he explained, fiddling with the handle of his coffee cup. "I used to give away nearly all of my salary, but after Riker's I decided that I wanted to do something more…important with my money."

"There's nothing more important than giving to charity."

"Yes…there is, Joss." John looked her directly in the eye, refusing to release her. "You_._ _You're_ more important."

"John—"

He plowed ahead, unwilling to let her downplay what he'd just confessed to her. "You risked everything to get me out of Riker's. You risked everything to help with the numbers when you had no idea where we were getting our information. You trusted us…you trusted _me_…and for that you deserve the ultimate show of trust. So I'm leaving you everything I have. It's why I didn't make you an Executor."

"I don't know what to say." She looked distinctly overwhelmed.

"You can start by telling me what's got you so upset. If it makes you feel better, I'm leaving a substantial amount to several shelters around the city. And it's all legal, so you don't have to worry about that either."

"It's not the legality."

"Then what is it?" He wasn't going to let this go, even if they had to sit here all day. "If you ever need money, at least you know how to get your hands on some," he joked, hoping to make her feel more at ease about the bomb he'd just dropped on her.

It had the complete opposite effect.

Disapproval radiated off her body in waves as she visibly stiffened. She glared across the table at him. "That's _not_ funny, John."

"Maybe if you tell me what's wrong, I wouldn't have to make bad jokes."

"Fine—you want to know?" Hands balled into tiny fists, she sat forward, mirroring his posture. "Thinking about your Will means thinking about you dying. And yes, I know it's irrational, but I don't care. I also know it's hard for you to accept the fact that people care about you." Her eyes were flashing at him now. "Well, too damn bad, John. If losing you means getting rich I don't want the money, okay? Is that clear enough for you?"

Despite her obvious irritation, John grinned. He couldn't help it. Knowing that this incredible woman cared about him so much was both humbling and gratifying. "Crystal."

"Good." She paused, then, "Are you sure you want to do this? What if you meet someone…?"

She let the rest of the question dangle in the air between them, heavy with unspoken—and likely unintended—meaning.

"I am and I won't," he answered with conviction, needing her to know beyond any doubt that he was serious. "And even if I did, she could never be you."

A light blush stole across her cheeks as she looked down and away before her eyes settled on his again.

"Thank you for thinking of me," she said softly.

"You don't have to thank me, Joss." He didn't try to hide the sentiment in either his voice or his eyes, wanting to let her know that she wasn't in this place by herself. "This is my way of thanking _you _for…everything."

"I don't want to have to collect for a very long time though."

"I'll do everything in my power to make sure you won't have to."

After a small hesitation, she ventured, "You promise?"

John answered without any hesitation at all, "You have my word."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ** Sorry for the ridiculously long wait for the next chapter of this story, but my muse deserted me on this one. I'm so glad she didn't desert me for good. I hope its worth the wait. Thanks for your patience and all your reviews and encouragement.

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**Whenever, Wherever**

Joss' eyes popped open as if they'd been spring-loaded. It wasn't the slow, steady swim to consciousness that she was used to, but a sudden jolt into wakefulness that left her feeling confused and out of sorts.

Her body rigid beneath her thick comforter, she blinked slowly into the gloomy darkness of her bedroom. Staring up at the soft white glow of the ceiling, she tried to shake off the sleepy haze that was still muddling her brain. She thought she'd heard a noise coming from downstairs, but if pressed she wouldn't have been able to say exactly what. A muffled bump perhaps. Or maybe the dull thump of something heavy hitting the floor.

It felt so surreal. Like the tail-end of a dream that she couldn't quite remember. But she was pretty damn sure she'd heard _something_, and that something had been loud enough to pull her out of a pretty deep sleep. She knew it hadn't been the muted pops or low groans of the brownstone's aged foundation. She was as familiar with those sounds as she was the sound of her own voice, and what she'd heard was distinctly _un_familiar.

She also knew it hadn't been her son. After weeks of anticipation, Taylor was spending the weekend out of town with his father, touring museums and visiting with relatives in the nation's capital; there was absolutely zero chance she'd find a hungry, half-asleep teenager raiding the fridge for a post-midnight snack. Whatever it was had been unnatural, foreign, and distinctly out of place.

Ears straining to pick up any stray noises over the drum-like pounding of her heart, she reached for the gun resting beside her on the nightstand. Keeping her service weapon close, even while she was at home, had been a habit she'd had yet to break after her showdown with Quinn and his hoard of uniformed goons. She supposed she'd ease it back to its normal home on the top shelf of her closet one of these days, but at the moment she was grateful that her HR-induced paranoia had yet to fully subside.

Fingers wrapped so tightly around the butt of her gun that they were starting to tingle, she slid silently to the side of the bed closest to the door and lowered her bare feet to the floor. Her toes curled involuntarily against the chill that had settled into the dark wood, but she ignored the slight discomfort and sat unmoving, marveling at how loud absolute silence could sometimes seem. The hush creeping through the house was deafening, bordering on claustrophobic. It reached out and strangled every inch of available space in the room, ominous and foreboding. A small shudder passed through her; she suddenly wished she'd fallen asleep to the soothing murmur of the television instead of the quiet pages of a paperback just so she wouldn't feel so damn alone right now.

After several long seconds that felt like an eternity ticking by, Joss pushed herself to her feet. The weight and familiarity of her weapon was like a balm to her frayed nerves, both welcome and reassuring as she held it out in front of her, safety off, aimed and ready to fire.

For the few brief moments it took to cross from her rumpled bed to the open door, she toyed with the idea of holing up in her room and calling in the cavalry. All she had to do was pick up the phone and half the police force would be at her front door in a matter of minutes. The more implausible thought of rousing John from wherever he laid his head at night followed closely on the heels of the first, but she quickly shook off both notions. Especially the latter. Judging by a short conversation she'd had with him just a few hours ago, he'd sounded like he was running on fumes. Although they'd traded their usual teasing barbs, his normal melodious voice had been heavy with exhaustion. He'd just finished up with a number he'd been working non-stop for nearly a week and was finally going to get some much-needed sleep.

Besides, causing a scene over something that may or may not have gone bump in the night, or worse, embarrassing herself by asking John to rush to her aid like she was some wilting damsel in distress was not an option.

She could handle this on her own.

Pausing in the doorway, Joss cocked her head, trying to pick up even the tiniest sound. Nothing. Not even the faint sound of a car passing by on the street. But she didn't let that deter her. She knew better. She'd learned the hard way that silence meant nothing. Her most recent lesson, probably the hardest one she'd ever learned, had nearly taken her life. The ugly scar on her chest was a stark reminder that the most vicious predators could move with the stealth of a shadow. If someone _was_ in the house with her, they were likely biding their time, on guard for the slightest sound or movement. Waiting patiently—just like she was—for the other player in the game to make a mistake.

Well, it damn sure wasn't going to be her.

Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she tip-toed soundlessly across the shadowy landing to the stairs directly across from her bedroom. With her back turned protectively toward the wall, she navigated the sturdy wooden stairs with ease, using the cloak of darkness and the intimate knowledge of her home to expertly avoid the noisy creaks that would give away her descent.

Before she'd even hit the halfway mark, Joss froze, her eyes wide, her brain slow to play catch up as she stared unblinkingly at the front door. The front door that was no longer closed and locked like it had been when she'd gone to bed more than an hour ago. It was standing open several inches, the frigid winter air sneaking through the crack and snaking up the stairs making her shiver despite her cozy, flannel pajamas. The wood along the side of the frame was splintered inward, chewed and ragged-looking from where it had been forced open. A streak of ambient light from the street snuck in through the wide gap, cutting an ominous yellowish swath across the polished floor and up the wall to the ceiling.

There was no feeling of triumph, no sense of validation at being proven right. In fact, she felt as if she'd won a booby prize in the world's worst game of chance.

The pounding of her heart kicked up a notch, beating against her ribcage so hard she could hear nothing save for the blood rushing loudly in her ears. Another larger burst of adrenaline flooded her system, making her feel slightly light-headed as her mouth filled with the sharp, coppery taste of fear. She bit the inside of her cheek, using the dull pain to bring her back to herself. It was a trick she'd begun using in the Army whenever she felt she was close to losing control. It never failed to pull her back from the brink. Already, she could feel her years of training replacing the overwhelming urge she felt to run back to her room and lock herself away.

As Joss forced her feet to move, mentally steeling herself for a confrontation with an intruder, she wished with everything inside her that just this once, she'd been wrong.

* * *

The sound of a light knock on her backdoor should've surprised Joss, but it didn't. Given the circumstances that had her huddling at her small kitchen table in the middle of the night, she should have at least been a little startled by her unexpected visitor, but she intinctively knew there was no need to be. Because without even looking, she knew exactly who was standing on her doorstep at 2:30 in the morning.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself to her sock-clad feet and padded across the brightly-lit room, mentally preparing to face him. Deep down, she'd known she would have to face John sooner or later, but she hadn't thought it would to happen tonight. She'd thought she'd have time to process her feelings, to gain control over her emotions. To wrestle the unwelcome vulnerability and helplessness she was feeling back into some semblance of normalcy. But as usual, John Reese had decided to throw a big fat monkey wrench into her plans.

_Damn him._

"Who is it?" she yelled through the heavy wood of the door although she already knew. Asking meant one less argument they'd be having.

"Me."

"Of course it is," she murmured under her breath as she flipped the locks and pulled open the door.

John was glowering down at her, his concern and aggravation evident. She stared back at him warily, noting the tension emanating from his large frame as he fought his natural instinct to barge past her instead of waiting to be asked in.

She let her gaze roam over him, noting the fatigue that his fierce expression couldn't quite hide. The yellowish glow of the porch light glinted off the silvery-grey stubble dusting his chin and his normally coiffed-to-within-an-inch-of-it's-life hair was slightly mussed. The short bangs falling across his forehead lent him an air of boyish innocence that was extremely endearing, although she was pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate it if he knew. The ever-present twinkle in his blue eyes was muted, and the laugh lines around his mouth were more pronounced than usual, made even deeper by the slight frown turning down the corners.

Opening the door wider in invitation, she tried to tamp down her burgeoning guilt. She had nothing to feel guitly about. If John was here, it was because he wanted to be. Nothing she could have said or done would've stopped him from showing up here tonight. She knew that. But the thought didn't help much. If something happened to him because he was here when he should be home in bed, she'd never forgive herself_._

"Are you okay?" he demanded, his voice gruff as he stepped inside and brushed passed her.

Immediately bristling at his proprietary tone, her hands reached to tighten the belt on her robe, as if the soft black fleece was a shield that could protect her from his ire. She wasn't crazy about facing off with him in her nightclothes, hating how off-balance and vulnerable it made her feel, but she refused to run off to her bedroom to change. This was _her_ space. She could do this.

She squared her shoulders as he turned to face her. "Well, good morning to you too, John."

"Joss..." The flat slash of his mouth and rigid set of his jaw made it clear that he wasn't in the mood for their usual back-and-forth.

Well, that was good, because neither was she.

"I'm fine." He studied her for a long moment, his eyes roving over her as if he didn't quite believe her. "I'm _fine_, John," she insisted.

Apparently satisfied with her answer, at least for the moment, he asked brusquely, "Where is it?"

She didn't bother to ask him how he knew, because the answer was obvious. It was the same way he knew everything else about what was going on in her life: Finch and his penchant for shamelessly violating her privacy. She was really going to have to have another talk with them about setting some boundaries.

Sighing quietly, she gestured toward the hall behind him. "Front door," she answered, although she was fully aware that he knew exactly where it was. There was no way he didn't know. It was why he was here. He was simply being polite. Or _his_ approximation of polite anyway.

She shuffled over to the sink as she waited for him to do his thing, needing to do something with her hands. As she went through the motions of making herself a cup of tea, she listened to him moving around the foyer. Thankfully, he wouldn't be seeing a scene that looked as bad as it had when she'd first discovered it earlier. The responding officers had been kind enough to nail the broken frame back together enough so that she'd at least been able to close and lock the door.

But there was no way that would be enough for him. A sanitized crime scene wouldn't make him feel any less guilty than he probably already was. Or any less angry that she hadn't called him. The combination of those two volatile emotions was a confrontation waiting to happen. One she wasn't looking forward to.

Sighing, she filled her favorite yellow mug with water and stuck it in the microwave to heat. Above the low hum of the appliance, she could hear John moving quietly around the house—both upstairs and downstairs—as he performed his own thorough check. It didn't matter that she and her fellow officers had already cleared the brownstone earlier. He wouldn't feel at ease until he saw for himself that everything was indeed all right.

By the time he returned to the kitchen ten minutes later, she was standing with her hip propped against the counter, carefully sipping her tea. She eyed him over the rim of her mug as he crossed the room, moving to stand in front of her.

"What happened?" he asked tersely.

She cocked a brow at him. "You mean you don't already know?"

"I'd like to hear it from you."

The last thing she wanted to do was tell the story again, but she knew John. And as much as she tried to downplay it, she knew how he was when it came to her and her safety. He wouldn't be satisfied until he heard the story from her firsthand.

"Fine," she said, sitting her mug on the counter beside her, "but there's really not much to tell. A sound woke me up. When I went to check, I discovered that someone had forced open the door."

"And this happened while you were sleeping." It wasn't a question.

She hesitated before forging ahead. What good would it do to lie? "Yes."

Jaw tensing as he absorbed the news, John's eyes flashed dangerously. "No one was in the house?"

"No." She shook her head, noting the look of relief that softened his eyes. "Whoever it was must have been scared off. I cleared the house, put a chair against the door, and then called for backup."

"But you didn't call _me_."

"It took the unis less than ten minutes to arrive," she said, feeling a strange to explain herself. "Wasn't much they could do, and I doubt anyone will ever get caught, but—"

"Why didn't you call me, Joss?" John interrupted. He took a step toward her, coming dangerously close to invading her personal space.

If the solid mass of the counter wasn't pressed against her back, she probably would've taken a step backward. Instead, she stood up straighter. "Because even Batman needs to sleep sometimes."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"You're more important than sleep," he retorted with a vehemence that surprised her. "When are you going to get that? I shouldn't have to hear about something like this from Finch."

It warmed her insides to hear him put it out there so bluntly, so earnestly, but she pushed the feeling aside. His well-being was important to her too, damn it. Why couldn't _he_ understand _that?_

"When I talked to you earlier, you sounded like you were practically dead on your feet. Calling you did briefly cross my mind," she admitted with a huff of frustration. "But in the end I decided not to."

His expression was a combination of bewilderment and hurt. "Why?"

"Because everything is fine. _I'm_ fine. I honestly felt like it was something that could wait until the morning."

His slight frown deepened into something just shy of an outright scowl as a row of furrows materialized on his forehead. It was obvious he didn't like what he was hearing and seemed to be waiting for more. But she wasn't sure if she wanted to give it to him. She closed her eyes then opened them again, deciding to go ahead and plow forward with the unvarnished truth. It wasn't like it hadn't been said before.

Without thinking, she shifted closer to him, completely obliterating the invisible wall that separated her personal space from his. He didn't move.

"I know you find this hard to believe, John, but you do have people in your life who care about you. And if something happened to you out in the field because you were here instead of getting some rest, I'd never be able to forgive myself. You're too important."

_To me._ She'd swallowed the two small words before they could leave her mouth, but they were hanging in the air between them as if she'd spoken them aloud. He looked stunned for a moment as her words slowly sunk in. But just as quickly, she could see their effect take hold as the tension drained from his body and a tender smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Understood," he said in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving hers. She got the distinct impression he was recalling what she'd said to him in the morgue after he'd gone off to use himself as bait so she could escape with Quinn. It had essentially been a variation of the same thing, but voiced much less elegantly given the urgent circumstances. "But next time, I need you to call me. No matter what time it is, or what I'm doing, or how much rest you think I need." He paused for emphasis. "Promise me, Joss."

"I can't make a promise I know I might not be able to keep."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Why can't you just let anyone help you?"

"Why can't you let anyone care about _you?_"

At an impasse, they stood silently staring at each other, the thought of backing down never occurring to either of them. This was an old argument. One neither of them seemed to have an answer to. The refrigerator chose that moment to make a new batch of ice, the loud rattle of falling cubes thunderous in the hush of the room.

"I swear, Joss Carter, you've got to be one of the most stubborn people I know."

"Ditto."

"I'll let it go for now, _but,_" he added quickly before she could mentally celebrate her win, "your security is unacceptable. You're getting new doors, lights, and an alarm system installed. _Today. _No arguments."

Joss didn't even bother to argue. She knew him well enough to let him have this one. He needed it. Besides, she'd been planning on taking some of those same precautions anyway. It wouldn't hurt to let him think it had been his idea.

"Fine, but I'm paying for it, so don't get any ideas." If she didn't stand firm on that point, he'd try to foot the entire bill if he could get away with it.

For a moment, it looked as if he was going to argue with her, but he relented with a single nod. His eyes left her then, drifting over to the table on the far side of the room. She could see the wheels turning in his head as he took in the plaid throw bunched on the floor beneath her chair, the open magazine she hadn't been reading, and the gun resting just above it.

The stark simplicity of the scene said more than words ever could, but in typical John Reese fashion, he turned back to her and asked the question anyway. "How are you _really_ doing, Joss? The truth this time."

Another stream of empty reassurances hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. After everything they'd been through together, he deserved more than meaningless platitudes from her.

"I'm…still processing it," she began, taking a head-clearing step backward until she could feel the counter at her back once more. His nearness was both comforting and strangely intoxicating. "It still doesn't feel quite real, you know? Like I'm going to wake up any minute and discover it was all just a terrible dream."

He nodded his understanding. "Been there more times than I'd care to remember."

"This is my _house_. I'm supposed to feel safe here. Taylor and I are supposed to _be_ safe here. And now…" Trailing off, she looked around the room as if she no longer recognized it. Just yesterday, she'd been so eager to redecorate, flipping through the newest Ikea catalogue like a kid preparing a Christmas list. But her plan to paint the plain white walls a nice shade of ecru, retile the floor, and replace the small, plain wooden table for something a little more chic fled in the face of what had happened tonight.

"Now a part of me doesn't even want to be here anymore," she continued and balled her hands into fists. "And I hate it. I absolutely _hate_ that some punk ass criminal has been able to make me feel uncomfortable in my own home."

"I know." His response was soft, sympathetic, but there was no trace of pity.

Grateful, she slumped back against the counter, suddenly feeling both mentally and physically exhausted. "I know it'll pass eventually. But god, the feeling is so damn strong. But I'm not going anywhere. I refuse to let anyone run me out of my house."

"I wouldn't expect anything less. You might be one of the most stubborn people I know, but you're also one of the strongest and definitely one of the bravest."

"Thanks." Heat stole across her face as she broke eye contact, staring down at the light planks of the faux-wood floor before sliding her gaze to her forgotten mug of tea and then back up at him. "But you have to promise to stop worrying about me so much and worry about yourself for a change."

She had a nerve asking him not to worry about her when she spent nearly all her waking hours agonizing about his safety. But he already carried enough around on his shoulders without adding her to the mix.

"You know I can't make promises I know I won't be able to keep," he said, turning her earlier words neatly back on her.

"Touché."

His answering smile was playful, but he'd meant it. Just like she had. "I'm always worried about you, Joss. Might as well get used it now."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his words to wash over her and settle in. There was a time when she would have brushed them off, not able or willing to accept them for what they were, but that was before the morgue. Before he'd so unabashedly poured his heart out to her. Still, it was daunting to realize that she made up such an integral part of his life. That he was telling her in so many words that she was always at the forefront of his consciousness. That no matter where he was or who he was with, _she_ was where his mind dwelled. It was humbling and exhilarating and wondrous.

But what terrified her most was that she felt the exact same way about him. It would take even more money than Finch had to get her to admit it, but it was there. In the wild pounding of her heart and the sudden fluttering of her stomach, it was as tangible as the floor beneath her feet. And she was certain if he looked closely enough, he'd be able to see it in her eyes as well.

Just like she saw it in his.

"You first." That was as far as she'd go. At least for tonight.

After pretending to contemplate it for a second, his lips twitched in amusement as he gave a small nod of agreement. "I think I can manage that."

"Then I guess I can too." Joss let her eyes slowly travel over his suit, the slightly wrinkled black fabric reminding her once again of what he'd given up to be here with her.

"Trying to tell me something?" he asked as he took in her scrunched up nose.

"You look so tired." Without stopping to think about what she was doing, Joss reached up and gently ran her fingertips over the short stubble dotting his left cheek. The stiff hairs scratched at her skin, but she didn't pull away.

One of his dark eyebrows shot upward, but despite his obvious surprise she could feel him lean ever so slightly into her touch. The movement was so faint that had she not been so intensely aware of him, she might have missed it.

"If that's your not-so-subtle attempt to get me to leave, it's not happening."

"I could make you leave."

Looking distinctly amused at her pronouncement, a slow smirk slid onto his face as she lowered her hand. "You could certainly try."

"I could." But she wouldn't, and they both knew it. She found herself smiling back at him. "Thanks for coming, John."

He nodded slowly, his expression soft and open. "I wouldn't be anywhere else, Joss. You know that, right?"

She knew. But it meant everything to her to hear him say it.


End file.
